The Last Afternoon
by Evening Nightshade
Summary: Arwen Evenstar must say goodbye to both her home, and to a dear friend...


**THE LAST AFTERNOON, BY EVENING NIGHTSHADE**

DISCLAIMER: Sorry, own nothing, so don't sue! 

SUMMARY: Arwen Evenstar must learn to truly say goodbye for the first time in her life... 

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'Twas with unmistakable ambivalence that she had looked forward to this day: the anticipation of knowing that soon, she and her love would wed after so many decades of waiting, but the dread of realising that the time to part from her home and family was almost upon her. 

The messenger had arrived with the dawn, and preparations were made for the company's departure that selfsame afternoon. Everything was ready; it had been for days. She had been determined to waste not a second. Then why was it with such reluctance that she fastened her cloak, slipped on her riding gloves? 

Sighing, she leaned against the balcony, eyes roving the valley for the last time. If only she had known the previous night would be her last eve in Imladris Perhaps she could ask the company to wait, just for one more day 

_No._ Elrond was reluctant enough to place his daughter's hand in Aragorn's. To make such a request of him would only result in the elf-lord once more begging his daughter whether this was truly what her heart desired, and today, she lacked the strength of mind to argue with him. 

"My Lady." Bilbo Baggins' voice drew her from her thoughts, and she twirled around to face him. The old hobbit bowed shakily, grasping the birch cane for support. It broke Arwen's heart to see her friend as such, his life slowly withering. "Lord Glorfindel wishes me to tell you that your escort will be ready to leave within the hour." 

Silence fell as the sorrow Arwen tried to hide trickled forth, salty tears marring a path down her alabaster cheeks as she felt her throat tighten painfully -- realising, for the first time on her life, the true meaning of goodbye. 

"Lady Arwen?" Bilbo said softly, whipping a pristine white handkerchief out of his breast pocket. A faint, reluctant smile crossed Arwen's lips; dear Bilbo, never without a pocketful of handkerchieves. He motioned her to sit, clambering onto the bench at her side. "My dear Princess, why do you cry? You and, Lord Aragorn are to be wed soon!" 

She bit her lip. "I love Estel dearly," she began, "But I cannot bear to leave here -- to leave my friends and family." Accepting Bilbo's handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes, lest her Father see the glimmer of tears. 

"Every night, I see my mother in my dreams," she continued. "Every night, she begs me to take the ship to Valinor, but I always refuse." Her voice quivered. "Before I wake, I always see the Last Ship leaving the havens, and realise that I am alone. Truly alone." 

Bilbo did not answer, but she saw his brow crease in thought. Dropping her gaze, her eyes traced each intricate pattern of the tiles, as if to memorise them. How often had she traversed this balcony, barely noticing the beauty underfoot? What other delights of her home had become hidden by habit, and would remain undiscovered? 

"Yesterday was my last day in Imladris," she whispered. "Yet I did not know it. I did not savour it." Looking up, she added, "And today may be the last time I ever see so many of my friends." Her eyes met his. "You know as well as I that this is our final parting." 

Bilbo nodded solemnly. "Yes I wish I could attend your wedding, but I'm too weak to make the journey. I would have liked to be there, as I sense it will be an event to remember. I suppose it's only fitting then that you receive your gift now." 

She began to object, but the hobbit stilled her. He slipped a hand into the pocket of his finest waistcoat, worn especially for the occasion, and unveiled a chain so majestic, Arwen gasped. Wordlessly, she accepted it, mouth still agape. Mithril glimmered in the afternoon sun and sapphires caught the light, reflecting it in kaleidoscopes off the walls. "Bilbo, I --" 

"Take it, Princess." His minute hand closed the necklace over hers. Composing herself, she opened her mouth, but Bilbo interrupted her question before she could voice it. "A little souvenir of my adventures with the dwarves -- and a gift to you, my Lady." He executed a low bow. Arwen leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

The blood crept to his face, the skin redder than the roses in Lord Elrond's garden. Shuffling his feet, he averted his eyes to the ground, but Arwen slipped a finger under his tiny chin, raising his face to meet hers. "Thank you so much Bilbo," she said kindly, a smile adorning her face despite the prickle of tears in her eyes. 

"Your escort awaits, Lady Arwen Undomiel," he replied, as he slipped his rough hand into her silken grasp and raised it to his lips. Together, a companionable silence settling between them, they stood, and descended the stairs and turned towards the courtyard. 

In later years, that of her brethren who had remained in Middle Earth after Elrond's departure would tell her of the lustrous glow that she seemed to radiate, Varda's light sparkling more potently than ever in her eyes that day. 

Arwen signalled to her escort to wait but a moment, and knelt down on the grass beside her companion, embracing him for the last time. "_Namarie, mellon nin_," she whispered. "Farewell, my friend." 

"Goodbye, my Lady," he answered, emotion creeping into his voice. "And pass on my love to Frodo. I fear he'll need all the comfort he can get." 

She nodded, then rose, striding towards the company and mounting her horse gracefully. Casting a final, bittersweet smile at Bilbo, she then turned to face her father. Elrond nodded in approval, and the company rode into the afternoon. 

Arwen clutched the reins fiercely, a lone tear meandering down her cheek. She had said the first of her goodbyes: to her home, and her friend. But how, she wondered as she watched her father, riding scarcely a few feet ahead of her, how would she find the strength to part with him? 


End file.
